A French 75
by CaVaPasLaTete
Summary: Agent Fleur Delacour preferred to hunt alone. Auror Harry Potter preferred to have a partner that didn't make him so frustrated, and in so many ways. But the madman on the loose didn't consult them before he started killing, so they'll just have to make due. An AU where the Triwizard Tournament was never brought back, but fate can't keep our dynamic duo apart forever.
1. Killer Queen

Killer Queen

Some people – famously successful international crime-fighting agents, for example – often turned into more legend than truth.

But nothing in Harry's twenty-six years had, or could have, prepared him for meeting _La Falconne_. He had been warned that the name translated roughly to The Falcon, after the sharp facial features that were perched atop a tall, graceful body. _La Falconne_ walked out of the Floo as though they were walking onto a yacht, with a presence that seemed to fill every corner of Scrimgeour's sparsely decorated but spacious Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office.

But what had Harry frozen in place was not the pointed glare or confident presence- it was her radiant beauty. For the briefest second, Harry felt his whole brain turn off all at once as the new guest settled in.

Scrimgeour, seated behind a massive cherry desk, barely looked up from paperwork as _La Falconne_ was followed by another, taller French witch through the fireplace, who introduced herself to Harry as Director Dominique Atris. Harry just barely had enough professionalism to stop staring long enough to shake her hand, noticing that she was thin-faced and grey-haired, although still looking to be about half of Scrimgeour's age. Perfectly white pin-straight robes clung to her slim shoulders as she opted to stand before the desk. _La Falconne_ , clothed in a more form-fitting light blue robe, was next to introduce herself as Special Agent Fleur Delacour. She opted for a firm nod rather than a round of handshakes.

Seeing that Scrimgeour wasn't going to look up from his paperwork, Director Atris took it upon herself to start the meeting. "Good morning, Mr. Director, Mr. Potter. I take it that you have been briefed already?"

"Hmph," snorted Scrimgeour, "Of course not. Madam Atris, If I could be arsed to read briefings myself, I'd be Minister by now," he explained, his wry tone conveying the sarcasm that his perpetual deadpan expression did not.

"Well, _Rufus_ , I suppose we should all be grateful that you don't then," she shot back, a clear edge to her polite tone and slick smile. With a slight turn, she stated, "Fleur, this is your show. You may do the honors."

Fleur, who seemed to stand even straighter, smoothed out her fitted light blue robes and began, "A recent pattern of murder victims suggests the existence of a mass killer on the loose, and _furzz_ ermore, one seeking to copy the means and methods of the late 'E-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Harry couldn't help but notice that, despite the gruesome subject matter, her voice had a musical quality to it, and a thicker accent than her compatriot. She continued, " _Z_ ere is reason to believe that this killer has claimed at least three victims so far."

Scrimgeour's attention was peaked, as much as it ever was, by this. "And this killer, is he working with a cult yet, or it this just one madman on the loose?"

"We 'ave reason to believe this individual is working alone, for now, but is someone well connected. The pattern of attacks seems to suggest that they 'ave associates in high places 'ere in Britain, and perhaps abroad, as well as the resources to move about as needed."

Harry was at once fascinated and appalled. On the one hand, this is the kind of case he was dying to work on, considering that he was still struggling with a Daily Prophet article every other month about "The Stalled Career of The Boy Who Lived." Rita Skeeter had even gotten creative with her titles, with January's _Harry Potter and the Missed Promotion_ followed by April's _Harry Potter and the Wasted Potential._ On the other hand, this also sounded like the kind of job that went to more senior Aurors.

So he asked, "Where do I come in?" Fleur did not appear to react, but Atris swiveled to look at him and answered.

"I have requested that you assist Agent Delacour in this matter. Your role in the fight against Voldemort means you have insight that many of us in France would not, and there is troubling evidence that the killer has attempted to or successfully created a Horcrux already. Needless to say, there are not many in the world who are experienced with the disposal of such foul things."

Scrimgeour grunted his assent at Atris's request. "Fine by me," he said turning to Harry and offering, "This will be good to keep you sharp while your partner is on bed rest."

"It will be a good show of magical cooperation, as well," Atris threw in, casting a sidelong glance at Fleur. "Our nations must work together against new threats to our world, and it will be good for _some individuals_ to begin forging this collaborative spirit." The Auror part of Harry's brain connected Atris's wry smile with Fleur's tightened jaw.

"Yes," Agent Delacour gritted out, "It will be a great pleasure to 'ave you working by my side." Atris raised an eyebrow, as if daring the younger witch to go on. Fleur let out a small huff and continued, "I look forward to your _experience_ being useful 'ere." There was something about the forced way Fleur's tight-lipped smile concluded her sentence that made Harry feel as though she somehow doubted that he would be very useful at all.

Despite her difficulties, and despite Harry's better instincts, he felt deeply attracted to the girl, with a sudden impulse to prove himself. "Voldemort, for the Horcruxes, insisted on using magical relics, important items," he blurted out. "We can start there, I can ask my contacts in the black market."

Atris nodded appraisingly. "So it would seem that we already have something to go on. I am sure that you and Fleur will investigate this thoroughly." Fleur finally looked at him and Harry could see her considering the new information before giving conveying a soft but respectful, "Indeed". Harry felt an inordinate amount of pride from it and bit his cheek to keep from beaming.

A beat of silence passed before Scrimgeour was kicking them out of his office with a, "Well, this has been productive then, so…" Atris rolled her eyes and pinched some Floo powder back into his fireplace.

Fleur turned to Harry and handed him an absurdly thick file she produced from a tiny clutch purse. "I will give you a day to review this, yes? And then we will meet to discuss strategy tomorrow, in your office. I 'ave a plan outlined towards the front that I 'ope you will be able to help me execute." With no opportunity for further input from Harry, she turned on her heel and in three long strides was swallowed up by the fire.

In the absence of the French witches, Harry turned to his boss who just shrugged. "She seems like a fun one Harry. Best of luck."

"Any advice?"

Scrim chuckled. "Stay out of her way, when you can. And be careful- she's a part, err-"

"Part veela, Sir, according to the file. Any idea how much veela?"

"Somewhere between some not quite full and not quite none, I'd imagine," the older man offered, turning his attention back to his paperwork. Harry tried to make his thanks sound more genuine than it was before he rose to leave.

"One more thing, my boy," the Head called out to him as he had a foot out the door. "Mr. Flint- Marcus Flint- he's in holding for something or other, mundane I'm sure. Miss Delacour petitioned to question him, so you'll probably start there tomorrow. Perhaps pull his file." Harry thanked him for something actually useful this time and turned to leave again.

"Oh, one more thing," he was interrupted again. Scrimgeour scratched his beard as if trying to think of how to word it. "Try not to go to Boot for a bit, he might be sore about all of this. He originally petitioned to work on the case, but Atris requested you and I make a habit of not, erm, arguing with French witches. Better to save my breath, at this age."

"Of course, sir. I'll stay down wind of Auror Boot." With a thankful nod from his boss, he left to discuss his new case with an old friend.

* * *

"Harry!" Fifteen years of friendship with Hermione later, Harry was still constantly caught off guard by her bearish hugs. Something about having his mouth suddenly full of frizzy hear never got normal.

"Hey, Hermione," he sputtered out once free from her surprisingly strong arms. "Having fun?"

He gestured to her office, which had the look of a shelter for refugee files. Piles of paper and folders were stacked neatly, but feet high, on a too-small desk. The two standing lamps were overshadowed by a number of bookcases, all stuffed to bursting, and the whole room has the smell of old paper and new paper and more ink than Harry believed anyone could read in a lifetime.

"Oh, loads," Hermione gushed with her signature earnestness. "The new assignment Minister Bones has me working on is the most interesting work I've ever done, I've really got to tell you about it sometime," she enthused. Harry was markedly less excited for that conversation.

He settled for a weak, "Yeah?" A glance over her desk showed paper written in something that definitely couldn't have been English, and barely looked like letters at all. "I'd sit down and have you tell me now, but…" he gestured helplessly to a lack of chairs in the room.

"Oh, I know," Hermione sympathized, "I had to take the chairs out for more room. But! I've found that I think much better on my feet. So I just stand now!"

Harry nodded along, trying to fake even a tenth of her radiant positivity. She didn't notice though, and opted to keep talking. "You know, some of these laws that I'm looking into are positively ridiculous. Did you know that it's technically still illegal for muggleborns to send owl post on the weekends? It's not enforced, of course, but these are the kind of archaic laws still on the books."

"Nutty."

"It is! And muggleborns are specifically forbidden from giving manticores alcohol. If a pureblood gets a highly dangerous creature drunk, well that's all in good fun, but a muggleborn does it and _then_ the courts get involved."

"That's horrifying in a few ways," Harry offered. He was just happy that she was done working on (and discussing) Elf legislation, honestly.

"I know! But enough about me, tell me about you! I heard through the grape vine that you've got an interesting new assignment," she fished with a sly smile. Harry knew better by this point than to ask how she already knew- news spread like wildfire in the Ministry. She had probably known his assignment before he did.

"Yeah, it seems really interesting- and also terrible, I mean- but _really_ interesting."

Hermione gave him a knowing smirk. "I hear that you'll be working with an _interesting_ partner as well."

"Yeah, she has quite the reputation, I could learn a lot," Harry started, before a sigh. "But I'm not so sure about her. Talented and renowned as she is, she doesn't seem like she's very excited about pairing up. And she seemed a little, I dunno, dismissive. I mean, I know I'm not some secret agent, but I _am_ an Auror."

"Well Harry, some people just work better alone than with others," Hermione offered.

"Yeah, it'll be… a professional challenge. She just seems a little wound too tight."

This drew an eye roll from the brunette witch. "Harry, I hate to tell you, but there's a good chance that she's more than _a little_ wound too tight. But I also hear she's something to look at."

"I suppose," he offered, trying to play it cool. But something about his shrug was a bit too forced-casual, and Hermione smirked again.

"Try not to get _too_ distracted from the case, Harry. It sounds dangerous," she half-sang.

Harry, knowing he had been caught, blushed a bit and stammered, "Yeah, I suppose I should get to reading that background work then." He held up the thick folder with a frown.

Hermione nodded knowingly and gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Oh- before you go off traipsing with your hot new partner, you may want to stop by and visit your actual partner," Hermione suggested playfully, but with a knowing element of force behind it.

"Of course I will, who do you think is going to go through this file with me?" Harry quipped indignantly. "But, I dunno, it's not like he has anything to be worried about. I think we've already established that Fleur the Falcon is going to be the worst partner of all time."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well I know that, and you know that, and on some level, he'll know that straight away as well." She sorted some papers on her desk as she smiled for the next part. "But knowing my _darling husband_ , Ron will find a way to be supremely jealous anyway. So just comfort him a little."

"I'll do what I can," Harry offered, "But I might need the big guns to pay him a visit after I'm done."

Hermione laughed and playfully complained, "All these years later and I'm _still_ doing the dirty work."

* * *

"Mate."

"I know."

"Maaaaaate."

"I _know_ ," Harry groaned, head in his hands.

"Can we go through the ways that this is ridiculous?" Ron asked from his hospital bed. The rest of the Weasleys waved on from the two dozen pictures that Molly had packed on to Ron's tiny nightstand.

Harry rolled his eyes at the question. The more things had changed, the more they stayed the same. Ron took his lack of response as permission to go ahead.

"So first off, you get to work with _La Falconne_ ," Ron started. He butchered the pronunciation, but Harry didn't feel it was a good time for that to come up.

"Yes, okay, but as we've discussed, she's a nightmare and that's going to be utterly shambolic," Harry tried to defend.

But Ron waved away his concerns. "Alright, alright, so the bird's a bit stodgy, but she's part veela, that's got to be dead useful for an investigator."

Harry had no diplomatic response, so he just said, "Yeah, she's rather, erm… tall, you could say."

"And gorgeous!" Ron half-shouted before collapsing into coughs.

"And rather good looking, yes, but don't hurt yourself over it," Harry defended while Ron rubbed at his healing ribs.

"So you get to work with a highly accomplished, smoking hot partner-"

Harry cut in with a half-joking, half-conciliatory, "Hey, mate, don't sell yourself short, you're not so bad."

But Ron blew right past it with, "But you also get to work on the coolest bleeding case I've heard of."

"Ron, seriously, there could be a mass murderer out there!"

"Actually," Ron interrupted with a finger in the air- sometimes, he got a very Hermione-vibe about him, and it still freaked Harry out- "I was reading some muggle book about these kinds of cases, and they call them _serial killers_."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his friend's sudden burst of intellectuality. "Were you now?"

"Alright, so it was a muggle tevellision show, but that's not important," Ron clarified with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And they said that all of these killers, they've all got some of the same stuff wrong with them. Usually lonely people, usually guys, often a history of childhood abuse, lack of remorse, that sort of stuff. But the really interesting bit is that a lot of them seem normal. Could be anybody, y'know?"

"Could even be Weird Wally in Control of Magical Creatures."

" _Definitely_ Weird Wally, I've had my eye on him for years," Ron returned with a chuckle.

"But do you believe that sort of stuff?" Harry asked a little skeptically.

"I mean, sure I do," Ron offered. "Muggles don't have the same tools we do, but they still manage to catch people all the time. They've got to have something going for them."

Harry considered it for a second. "I'm not sure if that's your father or Hermione rubbing off on you, mate," he joked, "But I'll keep it in mind."

"While you investigate this super-awesome case with your super-hot new partner."

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron's tendency to go from insightful investigator to insufferable ninny in seconds. "Yeah, while I get to fight with an international super-agent about whether or not I should be there at all. Look, I have to go pull a file on Marcus Flint, so I have to head back to the office. Try not to die from your fear of missing out?"

Ron was perfectly deadpan when he responded, hand over heart, "I'll do my best. Oh, last thing- I heard from Diggory that Terry Boot is a little put out that he's not on the case. I can imagine why…"

"Hold on- Scrimgeour told me the same thing. What's the deal here?"

"Well, he's the one who usually work International Auror Affairs, normally he'd be put on this one. Plus he personally went to Scrimgeour when news broke last night about it, and Roofy told him it was his case if he wanted it."

"Ah. But I got it, because Director Atris requested me," Harry nodded.

"And because you're the luckiest man on this damn planet," Ron added, shaking his head.

* * *

Atris laid out on her plum chaise and lit a clove, closing her eyes and taking a long drag. She motioned for Fleur to sit opposite her and asked, "So what did you think of Auror Potter?"

Fleur sat on a plush, high backed chair, lavender suede on a dark wood. She considered the question for a moment and responded, "He was shorter than I imagined," which prompted a choking fit of laughter from her superior. Fleur scrambled to offer a fuller assessment, saying, "Not that 'e is short! But he is supposed to be zis, zis conquering hero, and now we meet him, and 'e is just a hair taller than myself, non? You would think he was, I don't know, the stories say…"

Atris waved her hand to cut Fleur off. "No, my dear, what did you think of his person? Of his talent?"

Fleur took longer to think for this. "Well, 'e was quiet. The file says he generally is, there is not much more to say there. But as an Auror, I do not know. There are so many stories, you know? Some say he hunted down horcruxes on his own, some say he was Dumbledore's puppet, and who can say? Dumbledore is dead, and many secrets to the grave with him. Potter's allies, the Order of the Phoenix, all entirely quiet on the subject. The British Minister, Bones, has sealed all records from the public to avoid exactly this kind of copycat. So who knows about him? It has been ten years since then, and he is still just a junior Auror."

"Mmm," Atris responded, between long draws. "It is a mystery. And he is a quiet boy."

"Quiet, indeed," Fleur nodded, discreetly waving the sweet smoke away from her nose. "I do 'ope he does not slow me down too much."

"Now, Fleur," the older witch admonished with a languid smile, "Don't take those thoughts into this. This is here to teach you about working with others. I have let you go this long without a partner, but I am starting to see where I went wrong with that."

Fleur huffed. "It has gone well so far, no?"

Atris sat up and held Fleur's gaze. "It has. But you, you are destined more than this. You can be more than an agent, you know. But you need to learn to play nice. You need to learn to be a leader. Your father, he was one of the best. What would he say?"

Fleur broke the eye contact to stare at her hands. "I know."

"Good," Atris nodded, laying back down. "You are but one witch. You cannot save the world yourself. But, you get others behind you, and you can make a difference." She gave her words some time to sink in. "Plus," she added, with a smirk, "It could have been worse. I could have stuck you with someone like Director Scrimgeour."

"Ugh," Fleur rolled her eyes. "How can someone so important be so… disinterested?"

Atris scrunched her face and delicately pinched the bridge of her nose. "Magical Law Enforcement can have many different heads. Some are great lawyers, some are brilliant investigators, and some are the strongest warriors."

"And Scr _ee_ mg _err_ , 'e is a warrior then, I suppose?"

"One of the best. But, when you have a gunslinger, they only look for problems you can solve with a gun."

"Or they try to solve every problem with a gun," Fleur offered with a smirk.

Atris laughed at her assessment. "Yes, my dear," affirmed, "Be careful of the men who solve everything with their guns."

"I suppose, then, that Potter will not be a problem?" Fleur asked with a giggle. "He seems, you could say, gun _shy_."

"My dear, please," Atris cackled, "Do go easy on him."

"The Great 'Arry Potter, 'ero of the British Isles," Fleur mused, twisting silver hair around a finger. "You know, I think that if anyone can keep up with me, why not him?" She thought a moment more before adding, "And if 'e does not? I will teach him to be someone who can."

Atris beamed at this display of leadership. Perhaps this case would go well. Perhaps it would not. Either way, it would be a peaceful few weeks with Fleur abroad.

* * *

Harry came in the next day to find an envelope atop his desk. He cast a quick detecting charm or four before taking it into his hands and noticing the gentle " _Harry_ " looped on the front. Without ever having seen Fleur's handwriting, he somehow knew that this was hers; there was just something about the graceful cursive that could have only come from one place.

His suspicion was confirmed as he read,

 _Au. Potter,_

 _I will be by around 10 am this morning. As I am sure you have realized, I would like for the first step to be an interview of M. Marcus Flint, as he is the only person I have found that connects two of the three victims. We will discuss more when I arrive._

 _I look forward to working with you. Mme. Atris tells me that you are skilled, and I am sure your familiarity will be instrumental for the case._

 _I hope that you will prove my impressions of the British wrong._

 _Best,_

 _F.I. Delacour_

Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. Harry smirked at the last line - a small joke, but Fleur's first sign of humanity so far.

Or, at least, he hoped she was kidding…


	2. Play the Game

"Look familiar?" Harry asked the redheaded witch hovering over his files.

She stopped biting her nails for a moment to murmur in a hushed voice, "Yeah, looks just like-"

"The Dark Mark tattoo, I know," Harry cut in.

"Except with a bird perched on the skull, instead of a snake," she finished, more confused than grave.

"Exactly!"

"And this was on the arms of the victims?"

"All three," Harry said. "What d'you think, Tonks?"

Heart shape-faced and ginger maned, Tonks took a moment to look over the pictures. Harry had gone to her, a former member of the Order and one of the few around that spent the most time hunting Death Eaters, for a second opinion. "I think you've got a bloody psycho," she mused. "Bird looks like, a crow, I guess? And from the pictures, it looks like they were branded, almost. Can't tell with photos if it was before or after death."

The wizarding pictures depicted the bird occasionally flapping, or twisting its head about. The marked arms, of course, laid still.

"Could be a recruiting tool," she guessed. "This gets out in the news, and people start thinking that there's a new dark lord in town. I'm sure some of the Death Eaters would be up for a round three."

Harry nodded grimly. "Yeah, the French ministry wants to keep this under wraps, too. One of the murders happened on French soil."

"And one in London, Merlin have mercy. This is serious, innit?"

"Well, I'll do what I can. They've got me and France's finest on the case, apparently," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

Tonks nodded with a large smirk, "Yeaaaah, I've heard about that too. Maybe you'll make some friends while you hunt some enemies?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Harry joked with a shake of his head. "But she is getting in soon, so I should go do some last-minute prep. Tell Charlie I said oi, will you?"

"Yeah, I'll tell him. Maybe I'll tell Ginny too," Tonks threatened with a gleam in her eyes.

Harry fake glared. "You wouldn't."

For a moment Tonks pretended to consider it. "No, I suppose not." She paused to let Harry feel relief before digging back in, "I'd hate to make your new partner jealous, you _know_ how Veela can get."

"Dammit Tonks!" Harry half-whispered half-yelled, feeling a blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. "I've got enough to worry about without you getting me all wound up!"

The redheaded witch cackled at his discomfort. Harry looked around a bit and asked her in a quieter tone, "And speaking of, have you seen Boot around? Scrim said that he wanted this case bad and that he might be a bit tetchy for a while."

"Nah," Tonks waved him off, "He's doing some follow up on some case he had last month in Slovakia or summat. He'll be out of the office a while. Now, go get ready, I don't think your secret agent Frenchie will want to be kept waiting. I hear she's a little uptight!"

* * *

As it turns out, "A little uptight" was a woefully inadequate descriptor for Fleur Delacour.

Harry had the files spread on his desk for just a few minutes before she stormed into his office and launched into a scathing criticism of "British civil architecture and floor planning." Harry attempted to greet her but did little to stop her tirade about confusing lobbies and awful elevators. A few waves of her wand had some select pictures levitated and slapped against a blackboard on his wall. Harry could do little but raise his eyebrows and sit back while he watched her flood into his space and commandeer his life.

In moments like this, and plenty to come, Harry could barely understand how this absurd cross between a tornado and a wildfire could still manage to be so utterly, devastatingly beautiful.

When she was seated, satisfied with her rant and the placement of the pictures, Harry had the boldness to ask, "Are you quite done?"

"Don't even get me started on the cubicle maze," she threatened with a huff.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She huffed again and stood, moving to the board. "Let's discuss the victims, yes?" Harry nodded his assent, so she launched in. "Marietta Edgecombe, London, mid-July. Your age."

"I knew her, in school," Harry offered. "Not well, though."

"Killing curse. No evidence left behind, except for, of course, the brand," Fleur pressed on.

"Looks like the Dark Mark. Voldemort's calling card. All of his followers had those tattoos, in the same place, on the forearm."

"Yes, exactly why you are here," the French witch noted, with a hint of an edge. Apparently, she was still not thrilled with his presence, but didn't linger on it. "The next, a man, Tomaz 'orvat. Found in Slovenia, just a poor farmer."

"Clearly, no connection between the victims," Harry murmured, half to himself.

"Clearly not, other than a killing curse and bad tattoo. Finally, last week, Aurelian Malfoy, of Rennes, found by his house elf. It was a forced entry into the manor wards, so there was clearly some talent present."

"Talented, deadly, and well-traveled. Hopefully that helps narrow our search."

"I 'ad 'oped it would, as well. But there are no travelers, by portkey or apparition, who 'ave covered all three places in the time period."

Harry nodded. "But there is the Flint connection."

"Indeed, yes. Marcus Flint," she said, moving a picture of the man to the blackboard and expanding it. "When Malfoy was found dead in 'is home office, our search showed that Flint's name was on some paperwork, some finances, thing like that.'

"And he's connected to Edgecombe, too," Harry said, rifling through a file. "Four years ago, he was sentenced to three years in a lesser wizard's prison in Merseyside for assault on her- she was his girlfriend at the time. He got out early because of his connections."

"And the most interesting bit," Fleur cut in, "Was this." She produced a scroll. "A three hundred galleon payment to Mariette, from Aurelian, a week before her death."

"And Flint is the only- or at least the strongest- connection between them," Harry finished. They both stood in silence for a moment.

"So, we think he killed her, killed Malfoy, and took a sightseeing bus trip to Eastern Europe to kill a peasant in between?" Fleur asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, no, for a number of reasons," Harry started. "First, he has an alibi for Edgecombe's murder- he was the first one the hit wizards dragged in. Second, he isn't the type to be copying Voldemort or something fancy like that, he's more of a street thug. And third, he's a goddamn idiot. He could never figure out how to cast an enchanted brand on his victims."

Fleur nodded, lips pursed. "Well, 'opefully Mr. Flint has some answers he wants to give us."

* * *

"We end up dragging Flint in a lot," Harry explained on the way to the interrogation room. "I know how to handle him. Follow my lead."

For her part, Fleur seemed disinterested in Harry's expertise. "I am thinking, I will be the good cop and you will be the bad cop for this, yes?" she offered.

"Well," Harry hedged, "I'm usually the, erm, good cop with these things. I'm rather rubbish at the bad cop bit- that's more Ron's thing. Maybe we approach this differently?"

To his frustration, Fleur just waved him off with a "Just make it up as you go. Just do what Ron does." Wasn't this supposed to be an equal partnership? His irritation was temporary, however, when she grabbed his arm and turned her big eyes on him and mewled, "Besides, I make a fantastic good cop."

Harry hoped that saying 'no' to Fleur would get easier over time.

It would not.

Marcus Flint was shaggy-haired and poorly shaven, stooped over with his wrists manacled to the steel table he sat at. From the moment they stepped in the room, all Flint bothered paying attention to was Fleur. "Well well, what is this? I thought I had met the whole the Auror circus already, but I've never met you," he said, face full of smirk, his eyes taking a slow expedition down her modest robe.

"Ah," Fleur giggled, "I suppose then, that I am new, to you." Harry was initially thrown by her alarming shift in tone- this was closer to a school girl than the hardened investigator he had been dealing with for a day now- but something on the edges of his mind, a warm whisper, made him realize that her allure was firing up. He realized what made her such an effective interrogator just as he noticed that the room suddenly smelled like lavender and vanilla, and seemed much cozier than your average interrogation chamber.

Fleur slid into a seat and placed a file on the table, while Harry elected to stay standing. "Mr. Flint, as I am sure you can guess, we are not 'ere to discuss the enchanted mailbox found in the possession of a muggle in Cokeworth."

"Good, cause I've got nothin to do with 'at." He sat back and paused for a moment. "And if I did, you can bet it would've nipped off more than just a few fingers."

Harry could feel his eyes rolling out of their sockets. Fleur just maintained her pleasant smile and seemed to focus harder. Harry could see Flint leaning forward in his seat at the compelling aura. "I want to discuss something else with you, Monsieur Flint. I want to talk to you about Marietta Edgecombe."

"That was a load of bullshit, she got pissed at me and started makin stuff up."

Harry took this moment to jump in. "You hexed her, Flint, you hexed your girlfriend over a disagreement about going to a baby shower. She was in Mungo's for a week."

"She lied," Flint insisted, teeth bared. "And besides, that was years ago, and I did my time for it, so I don't see why you're dragging me down here and jumping up my ass about it."

"I am concerned, simply, because of Miss Edgecombe's murder a few weeks ago," Fleur said, bringing Flint's attention entirely back to her.

"Real shame, that. Couldn't have happened to a nicer girl." Flint looked unnervingly satisfied about it. "Good news about all of that business was that I had an alibi for that night. I was with my mates at a pub just after the Tutshill game. We're season ticket holders, you should join us for a game some time."

Fleur gave a full-bodied smile that, Harry could tell, fell well short of her eyes. "That sounds delightful, Mr. Flint. But for now, I want to talk to you about Aurelian Malfoy. 'E has also turned up dead. And you knew 'im as well, no?"

"Friend of a friend," Flint brushed off.

"Bullshit," Harry cut in, slamming his hand to the table. "You've been working for him for months now."

Flint forced an eye roll. "Just a few things here and there, I barely knew the guy."

"You're full of shit, Flint. He was hiring you for something, and something big. We saw your name all over documents from his office."

"Well you think I killed him, then?"

"No, I don't think you're smart enough to have killed him," Harry challenged, "But I think you're going to tell us why he sent three hundred galleons to Marietta Edgecombe last month, and then we'll figure the rest out from there." Harry felt himself shouting at this point. He could feel himself sweating, and was close enough to see the sweat on the brow of the prisoner before him.

But Flint just snorted at his question. "Come off it, Potter," he said, leaning in to get their faces even closer. "I've known you twelve years, you think I'm just going to get scared of you now?" The intensity of the stare down had both men breathing heavily.

"You were in school togezzer?" Fleur chirped from the side to break the intensity. She laid a hand on Flint's arm and asked with a childlike innocence, "Were you two friends?"

Flint, back to being focused on the allure, barked out a laugh. "Ha, hardly," he said, settling back into his seat. "Potter was a Gryffindor, house full lot of nonces, while I was in a real house— Slytherin."

Fleur seemed to consider that. "'Ad I attended 'Ogwarts, I think I would 'ave been a Slytherin as well." She was laying on the accent thicker, and Flint seemed entirely lost in her voice. Harry sat back and let her work her magic for a bit, detecting just the faintest hint of mischief in her eyes.

"I'd have liked school a lot more with someone fit like you around," Flint clumsily flirted before continuing, "Slytherin would be perfect too, we're elegant and deadly, like cobras." From the sound of it, he was trying to impress her.

She just sighed and took a far-off look. "Ah, snakes. Can I tell you a story, Monsieur Flint?" He nodded eagerly and kicked in a smirk for good measure. "Two years ago I was in the dessert. La Arabia, oui? Hotter than hot, in a lot of good ways." Harry noticed her left hand slithering up Flint's sleeve- it was doubtlessly all Flint could focus on. "I took a side trip from my mission to help a young mother take her enfant to a village healer. We placed the child down and spoke in a nearby room while the healer prepared a salve." Harry felt himself grow hot, finding it harder to focus on her words. He couldn't imagine how Flint felt, under the full ecstatic pressure of The Allure.

Fleur pressed on, "Suddenly, a serpent appeared. It snuck towards the child and reared itself to strike. We had no time to react, so I grabbed the closest wand- the healers- and shot the first curse that could come to me. On instinct, I took the head off the snake from across the room. I wonder if I could do it again?"

In an instant, the heat of the room was gone. Fleur's left hand was still on Flint's bicep, but her right had a wand pressed to his throat. Harry and Flint seemed to gulp dramatically at the same time at the sight of Fleur's smile, suddenly predatory and cruel. Harry felt a flash of pity, and Flint saw his life in a flash.

Perhaps she wasn't kidding about being a Slytherin at heart, Harry mused, before grabbing a quill and jumping into note taking. Flint had already cracked like an egg.

* * *

"What ees this, _Champion_ , even?" Fleur asked when they had returned to Harry's office.

Harry sighed. "Dueling champions. Basically, rich purebloods pay people to fight each other. Ever since the war ended, people have been itching to throw curses around, and this is the new legal way to do it."

"So that was what Flint was going to be, then. Aurelian Malfoy's champion."

"Looks like it. Until Edgecombe blackmailed him, threatened to go public with the whole bit about having Flint's son out of wedlock."

"Yes, your newspapers would have been quite keen on that. And it would make Malfoy look bad to have a champion with a bastard son," Fleur concluded.

"Exactly. But it's not like Malfoy killed her and then himself. And Flint is cleared on both murders, not that he could have handled it anyway. But Flint did tell us about that other guy-"

"Bulstrode, yes. Uhm- Wallace. Wallace Bulstrode. 'is son was supposed to be the Malfoy champion, but the Flint deal meant that Aurelian cancelled on Wallace."

"Daughter."

"Daughter?"

"Yes, Millicent Bulstrode. She's a girl."

Fleur looked at the picture again. "Non- wait- mon dieu," she said with a grimace. "A typical _ee_ ngl _ee_ sh beauty, non?" Harry just narrowed his eyes.

"We should probably talk to Wallace," he said, shuffling papers. "Tomorrow we can head to their estate- he's retired, from what I remember, and lives near Leeds."

"Perfect. See! I make a fine good cop, and you did your job as well," Fleur said. She smiled with satisfaction and turned to leave.

"Actually, Fleur, I wanted to discuss that with you," Harry sputtered out. He was half worried he'd lose the nerve, but stood up straight and looked her in the eye. "That interrogation didn't go how I thought it would."

Fleur light up and gushed, "Oui! I 'ave spent my life honing my allure. Many veela cannot control it like I can. It comes in 'andy for these sorts of matters, yes?"

"Yes…" Harry began, trying to find his way towards the more serious point. "But, we really should be more careful about things. I know you got answers out of Flint, but we can't go around threatening everyone if we're going to do our jobs right."

Fleur cocked her head to the side in confusion. "I did not hurt the man, everything is fine. What it the problem?"

Harry sighed and came around his desk. "No, we didn't _hurt_ him exactly, but we can't just go demanding answers at wand-point. That makes us no better than the people we're fighting." And, he thought silently, it makes us very vulnerable to disciplinary action. Harry could picture the Skeeter headline now- _"Harry Potter and the Investigation from Internal Affairs!"_

Fleur, for her part, looked put out. "I am used to doing whatever it takes to get the job done, 'Arry." Harry braced himself for an argument that never came, as Fleur thought for a moment before softening. "But if you _ee_ nsist on this, then we will do it your way. I know you are only doing this because of your belief to justice."

"Yeah, well," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck and looking down. "Everyone deserves their fair shot. Even people like Flint."

Fleur nodded, and said, "You hold to your convictions well, 'Arry Potter, and this I respect." She thought a moment further before adding, "I know that it must not be easy to challenge me like this, and I respect you doing that as well." She reached out and patted his arm before turning. "Tomorrow, then?"

Harry nodded and confirmed, "Tomorrow."

After she left, he could still feel the heat from her hand on his arm, and even late into the night he still caught the occasional whiff of her perfume. He found himself occasionally thinking about the way she would say certain words, and the fire in her eyes while she pressed the tip of her wand into Flint's windpipe, and how that was scary but also decidedly sexy-

And that was about when Harry Potter started to worry about lingering effects of a veela's Allure.


End file.
